“I love him,” I finally managed to hiccup out. “I love him and I broke his heart, and now I’m trying so hard to go back to what I do best and it’s just not the same, you know? I work and I work and . . . oh, everything just sucks right now.” I sighed a big, blubbery sigh.
But then I heard Leo in the background, asking if she’d picked up milk on the way home, and it just all hit me like a ton of bricks. Roxie and Natalie had those conversations all the time. Hey, did you pick up milk on the way home, or honey, is that faucet in the kitchen still dripping, and do you know if the gas bill got paid yet, or does this mole look funny to you? All those random stupid questions that fill a day end up filling a lifetime. With memories. And traditions.
“You know what, guys,” I said, suddenly feeling stupid-tired. “I’m gonna go, I’ve got to get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“No no, Clara, you’re upset, let’s talk this out,” Roxie started to say, but I was already shaking my head.
“It’s okay, really, I’m sorry I flipped out tonight. I just need to get some sleep.”
“I can be in Boston in four hours,” Natalie said, and I smiled in spite of the tears that still coursed in absolute rivers down my cheeks.
“I know you can. I’m okay, though, seriously.”
“I don’t believe you for a second,” Roxie said, her voice sad. “Not for a second.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got tons of work to do this weekend. I’ll sleep tonight and tomorrow, I’ll be back to normal. I’ll go for a run, trust me, it’s all good.” And before they could try to keep me on the phone any longer, I said good night and hung up.
I lay down right there on the couch, surrounded by hot-mustard packets that had in no way caused this outburst, and looked at my ceiling. The ceiling I’d lived under for years now, and had never really bothered to look at.
And for the first time, I realized I wanted my own traditions. It wasn’t enough to simply archive and treasure and try to save someone else’s. I wanted my own stories to tell.
My traditions were small, but they were everything. I knew how to dye Easter eggs. I knew which radiator to fiddle with when the steam whistle began to blow in the Lakeside Lounge. I knew you could see the Milky Way from the roof on a clear night.
And I knew that running no longer gave me the static I craved. I craved quiet, but the kind of quiet that only comes after the love, after the sighs and cries, when his hands roamed freely across my naked body, no longer frantic but touching just for the sake of it. Just for the pure reason of skin touching skin with nothing in between, of communicating on a cellular level, you’re here and I’m here and we’re here and this is so much more than enough because it’s everything.
I fell asleep that night dreaming of mountaintops and ice skates. And when I woke up the next morning I knew what I had to do. Or at least, what I needed to try to do.
But first, I needed to buy my first car.
Green. Everything was so green. The last time I’d driven up this mountain, it had barely been spring and anything even close to green was only timidly peeking out. But now? The whole world was green.
I turned right just before the exit into town, but even from here I could see that Bailey Falls was ready for the Fourth of July. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from every balcony, crisscrossed the light posts on Main Street, and, beside every front door, the American flag proudly flew.
I drove along the riverfront on the south side of town, the Hudson River sparkling to my left in the afternoon sun. It was warm, but after the humidity and close, hot heat of South Carolina, a summer day in the Catskills brought a pleasant breeze and a welcome break. That pleasant breeze ruffled my hair as I drove with the top down, heading for the turnoff for Bryant Mountain House.
Ever since I’d made the spur-of-the-moment decision to leave Boston this morning, I’d literally been flying by the seat of my pants. There was a car dealer around the corner that specialized in classic cars, and when they were offering a Fourth of July sale on a little cherry-red, wholly unnecessary convertible sports car, I took it as a sign that the universe was endorsing my Hail Fucking Mary pass to beg Mr. Archibald Bryant into being my feller.
I smothered a laugh, then decided against it, letting my laughter ring out loud and proud against the quiet country air as I raced up the mountain, determined to go get my man. No one knew I was coming, not even the girls. I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to do. I did well when I followed my instincts, and I knew I needed to follow them right now. I laughed to myself when I thought about what my friends would say when they found out what I was up to.
I let out another laugh when I thought about the likely look on Dick Stevee’s face when he got my email that I was, essentially effective immediately, terminating my employment with The Empire Group. Something surely he never saw coming.
Dear Dick,
I am writing to tell you, this Fourth of July, that I’m announcing my own independence and tendering my resignation. While there may not be actual fireworks accompanying this actual email, please know that in my head, they’re going off like gangbusters right now. You see, I love my job. Or I should say, I did love my job, until you and The Empire Group came along and changed everything. Now, change is good, and I’ve never been one to fear change, but at this point in my life . . . yeah, no.
I’ll be staying on to finish up the Oakmont project, but consider that my final contribution. I don’t know where my life is about to take me, but I am comforted in the knowledge that I will not be, and will never be, your partner.
Regards,
Clara Morgan
Yeah, he definitely didn’t see that coming. And frankly, I didn’t see it coming either. But when everything that mattered weighed in the balance, it was time. Time to stretch my wings a bit, see what else might be out there. Time to stretch my Rolodex too—I had contacts and references going back for years, and all those hotel owners and managers wouldn’t hesitate to recommend me to others who needed help restoring their brand. I’d find work, I wasn’t worried about that. Work that I could be proud of, could do on my own time and at my own pace and actually carry through to fruition rather than finishing piecemeal because I had to race to my next gig.
My next gig, however, I was hoping, was going to be working at Bryant Mountain House, to finish up the job I’d started. If the owner would have me.
A nervous giggle flew out of my mouth at the thought of being had by this particular owner.
Would he still want me? Could I make him want me again? Was it too late?
Maybe not. Maybe not. Maybe so. But I wasn’t going to back down and walk away this time, I was going for it full steam.
I pushed my foot down on the gas pedal a little harder, climbing higher into the Catskills, searching out the sign that said the turnoff for Bryant Mountain House was just around the bend.